


journey's end

by emrys (livingshitpost)



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Comfort No Hurt, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hero Complex, Hobbits, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Kissing, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mutual Pining, Night Terrors, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, PTSD Frodo Baggins, PTSD Sam Gamgee, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Returning Home, Smoking, Trauma, but he did get stabbed in canon so, hey can we acknowledge the shit sam went thru. thanks, i don't know how lotr works i just have a lot of gay feelings, i mean. not shown anyway, is kingsfoil a drug, kinda???, listen. i am stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingshitpost/pseuds/emrys
Summary: Lush green hills sprawled on for miles around them. The sun shined brightly upon them all, reassuring all who basked in its light that all would be all right in the end. There were no fireworks, no grand declarations, no crowds of subjects or of soldiers or even of family.There were just two hobbits.





	journey's end

**Author's Note:**

> hot take: the only reason frodo went to valinor is bc johnald ronald rolkien tolkien was too much of a fucking **coward** to let him live with his husband. in this essay i w

Lush green hills sprawled on for miles around them. Lively music danced across the surrounding fields, people were singing and dancing for one reason or another, and children frolicked through the dirt roads with flowers in their curly hair. The sun shined brightly upon them all, warm and gentle and reassuring all who basked in its light that all would be all right in the end.

Frodo leaned against Sam's shoulder as their cart made its way towards the Shire. He closed his ice-blue eyes, a sort of sad smile gracing his lips. "It's good to be back," he murmured.

"It is," Sam replied. "I think I've had about enough adventuring around the world, don't you?"

"You can say that again." Frodo laughed, faint and lilting, and it tugged at Sam's heart. "I've come closer to death than I'd've liked more times than I can count, and you saved my life nearly half of them."

Sam waved his hand dismissively. "Just did what I had to do, Mister Frodo."

Frodo sat up. His mouth was pulled into a small, pouty scowl. "You've got to give yourself more credit, Samwise the Brave."

"I'll give myself the credit I'm due, Frodo, but you can't deny that you did most of the work."

"I may have carried the ring, but you carried  _me_."

"You're still goin' on about that?" Sam laughed. "I'm never gonna live it down, am I?"

"No, you're definitely not."

The ginger hobbit rolled his eyes, but didn't complain as Frodo rested his head once more on his shoulder. 

* * *

"How's the kingsfoil tea?"

"It's good."

"Of course  _you_ would best like drinks made from weeds."

"Dandelion wine is good, Sam. You just don't have taste."

"I've got plenty of taste, thank you very much."

Frodo chuckled, rising to stand beside his friend. "Are you not going to have any?"

"No; it's yours. You're the one who needs it."

"Sam, you've been through just as much as I."

"I get enough of its effects by smelling the stuff." He held the small jar of herbs to his nose and took a quick sniff, glancing at Frodo with a sly smile. "See? All calm now."

The dark-haired hobbit couldn't help but laugh. "What's it smell like?"

"Heather, I think? Maybe lilacs?" He took another whiff. "Actually, it . . . it kinda smells like you."

Frodo raised his eyebrows. "Does it?"

Sam paused. His cheeks took on a faint pinkish tint. "Just a little. It's more like good soil and strawberries, but I know those are your favourite, so." He cleared his throat. Had his companion been standing so close before? His eyes were as piercing as ever, but there was something else in his gaze he couldn't quite place. Was it anticipation? Fear? He didn't know. His stomach turned.

Frodo laughed. (Was it Sam's imagination, or had it seemed forced?) 

* * *

Sam startled slightly as the door to his bedroom opened, letting in warm yellow light from the hallway and the soft padding of Frodo's feet against the floorboards. 

"Frodo?"

The other hobbit stopped in his tracks. "Did I wake you?" He whispered. 

"No," Sam lied. "No, it's alright." He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What're you doin' up?"

"It's nothing." His voice was high and tense and unbelievably small in the dark room. "Nevermind, I'll just-"

"Don't go."

The words tumbled past his lips before he could stop them. He nearly clapped his hand over his mouth, but settled for shutting his eyes sightly, tensing his jaw and clenching his fists, waiting for the laughter, or the prying questions to which he didn't want to admit the answers, or-

Frodo sighed, near silently, and climbed into the bed that Sam had claimed as his own.

"Is this alright?"

Sam's heart thundered in his chest, an Uruk-hai wardrum warning him of battle and bloodshed and, above all, death and defeat. But he nodded all the same. "Yeah, 'course."

It took them a few minutes, but they eventually found a comfortable position together, with their legs just barely touching and Frodo with one arm under his head beneath his pillow, the other pulled close to his chest, vulnerable in the safety of Sam's arm draped over him. 

Sam swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn't move. He settled for allowing a shaky sigh to escape him as he gazed at Frodo's peacefully sleeping face, bathed in moonlight from the window above, and tried to bring himself to close his eyes in spite of the scene before him. 

* * *

Several weeks passed, and not a night went by that one of the two hobbits inhabiting Bag End didn't rise from fitful slumber to rest in the bed of the other. More often than not, it was Frodo, kept awake by the dull aching pain in his shoulder or nightmares of the Nazgûl coming for him once more. But this night it was Samwise who made the journey to the other's room, taking him protectively into his arms.

"Sam?"

"Sleep, Frodo. We'll talk in the morning."

"Sam, you're crying."

"I'm not."

Frodo reached up to put one hand on his friend's cheek, wiping away messy streams of tears from red-blotched skin with his thumb. "What's wrong, Sam?"

The other said nothing. He simply closed his eyes and tried to hide how much the reciprocated touch made him melt inside.

"Sam, speak to me."

Not a word.

Frodo sighed and brushed away a lock of curly orange-gold from his forehead. "You carried me to Mordor," he muttered. "Now it's my turn to help carry you, if you'll let me. This is a burden that we can share."

Sam bit his lip and pressed his forehead against Frodo's. "Don' wanna lose you," he said softly. He could barely make out the words as he said them, his tongue felt so thick inside his mouth.

"You're not going to." Frodo put his hand on the back of Sam's neck and kissed his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sam tensed. His hand spread over Frodo's shoulderblade, gripping at him with the pads of his fingers, and he tilted his head upwards to press their lips together softly, though only for a moment. He pulled away within seconds and was instantly out of bed, closing the door behind him as he left.

Frodo found him not ten minutes later in the garden with his pipe and a small supply of longbottom leaf, and sat beside him on the stone steps, wet with dew. The sun was rising slowly over the eastern hills and valleys, illuminating the world in a soft, orange-pink glow, but he wasn't looking at that. He was looking at Sam, studying the way he puffed the smoke from his pipe and let it out in low, steady streams from between his lips. Lips which, moments ago, had been on his own. (How right the world had been in that moment.)

"Would you mind sharing?"

"Of course."

Frodo took a long drag from the pipe and held it for a moment, then blew it back into Sam's face. His nose scrunched and he swatted away the smoke with his hand, but couldn't help but laugh.

"How long have you wanted to do that?" Frodo asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno."

There was a pause, but not a bad pause. It was merely a time to think. They both listened to the crickets still chirping in the far-off meadows, and to the birds awaking in the trees, and to the sound of the other breathing, and to their own heartbeats, and they thought.

"Sorry," Sam eventually murmured. "I didn't even ask."

"It's alright," Frodo assured him. He smiled. "It was nice."

"It was?"

"Yes. I've wanted the same for a while now."

Sam could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Then, would it be okay if we-"

Frodo cut him off by gently turning his head, using just his fingertips, and kissing the other once more. They stayed like that for a moment as the world came to life once more around them. There were no fireworks, no grand declarations, no crowds of subjects or of soldiers or even of family. There were just two hobbits who had reached their journey's end. And that was enough.

 


End file.
